


Survivor's Guilt

by Anariel_Luinwe



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Depression, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, ImaginexHobbit, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Survivor Guilt, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anariel_Luinwe/pseuds/Anariel_Luinwe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt on ImaginexHobbit on tumblr: Imagine Thranduil Finding Fresh Knife Wounds on your Wrists. Trigger Warning!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivor's Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Self-Harm. Please do not read any farther if this material is likely to trigger you! 
> 
> Also: Nothing belongs to me. Nothing. I am merely a peasant playing with the beautiful works of Mr. Tolkien.

You had seen so much death. So much ruin. Never had you imagined that it could feel so devastating. It had been many moons since the war at the gates of Erebor, but still you felt the sorrow keenly. Many had died needlessly, for the evil of the orc does not discriminate. You had watched too many of your kin fall from poison arrows and jagged blades. Even now you could feel sticky warmth of blood on your face and the stench of rot and death in the air. Months had passed and yet you could not escape it. It was your first experience of war and it had affected your light deeply. Indeed, you couldn’t imagine the scars and turmoil of your brothers and sisters, friends, and King who had felt the fires of wars past. And this troubled you.  


You justified every cut and every burn with the belief that it was necessary to understand the woes of your kin. And then you justified it with the impenetrable logic that you deserved it. Many others had their bodies marred in the battle and even more had perished. What right did you have to emerge with merely scratches, bruises, and tender limbs?

None.

So you hid away in the tallest trees of your beloved Wood and cut ever deepening wounds up your arms…a line for every fallen friend. But oh, there were so many. Before long, the self-inflicted wounds covered your arms, legs, and hips. And yet it brought no relief from the pressing darkness. The rage and desolation you felt impacted even your performance in the guard. It was no wonder the King had finally beckoned you for a private audience. Even he believed you needed to be punished.

You entered the throne room with an air of confidence you certainly didn’t feel and stopped rigidly at the stairs. Your King, Thranduil, sat regally in the majestically carved throne and regarded you with his icy stare. His silent appraisal send shivers rolling down your spine.

“My liege…” You acknowledge.

“Tell me Y/N,” Thranduil started in his resonant tenor as he raised himself from his throne. “How it is that a Captain of my guard, an elf I personally trained, suddenly cannot even take out a spider hatchling on their own?”

He had made his way slowly down the stair and stood before you with a menacing presence. You felt heat flush in your cheeks at his nearness and the embarrassment of the particular event he was referring to. You refused to meet his gaze and fixated on a particular silver swirl in the embroidered robes of his chest.

“No response?” He asked mockingly before starting to circle you like a predatory sizing up its prey. “You have been reckless, Y/N, and I will not tolerate you putting the lives of your comrades at risk over mere inattention!”

He stopped suddenly behind you. He leaned over your shoulder and his silvery locks brushed the exposed flesh of your neck.

“Or are you merely as incompetent as others believed you to be?” He taunted lowly into the shell of your ear, lips nearly touching the sensitive skin.

Rage swirled inside you as you spun quickly and raised your hand to slap his face. But he had anticipated this from you and caught your wrist deftly in his grasp. It was the reaction he was looking for.

“You would dare to strike your King? How horribly predictable.” He sneered as he angrily backed you into the nearest wooden pillar, tightening his grasp.

The weight of his hips against yours secured you firmly against the pillar and his hand pinned your wrist hard against the carved wood near your head. You let out a startled and pained gasp. The wounds on that arm were fresh, merely an hour old, and started to tear under the fabric of your tunic.

“Do not commit the crime if you are unwilling to accept the punishment.” Thranduil stated coolly but immediately loosened his grip.

You couldn’t tell if the pounding of your heart was fear or excitement. A jolt of pleasure ran through you at the intimate position he had trapped you in. But the arousal quickly faded to anxiety as your eyes finally met his. His normally impassive gaze was wrought with confusion and fixated on your captured wrist. He released his grip and stared in horror at the blood that now coated his hand and seeped through the fabric of your clothes. Hurriedly you retracted your arm and clutched it protectively against your chest. Thranduil’s eyes slid to yours, but you could not bear to see the disgust and disdain you were sure you would find in them.

“Y/N, look at me.” He commanded softly.

You shook your head in refusal and closed your eyes tightly, willing the tears you felt gathering to stay behind the gates of your lids.

“Y/N, please.” He whispered, lifting your chin gently.

Never in all your years in the King’s service had you ever heard him beg. It was impossible to refuse, so you opened your eyes. Tears immediately leaked from your eyes and ran freely down your cheeks.

Never in your life had you felt such shame. Thranduil gently grasped the arm against your chest and carefully pushed back the fabric of your tunic exposing the multitude of cuts that littered your arm. He seemed shocked and quickly mirrored this action on your other arm only to find the same visage.

“Why?” Thranduil asked you quietly.

But you could only shake your head and tear your gaze away. Suddenly, you were pulled into the hard warmth of his chest as he wrapped you in a tender hug, tucking your head under his chin.

“I have failed you.” He whispered into your hair.

And you were undone. Sobs started to wreak havoc on your abused body. Thranduil pulled back slightly and wiped the tears away from your cheeks.

“By the Valar I vow to never fail you again. I have loved you for so long and yet I never knew of this suffering. I never said the things I should have. Please, Y/N, let me make this right.” He said, tenderly brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

He cupped your face in his warm hands and silently begged for your permission. Unable to speak and still reeling from his admission, you simply nodded. Thranduil quickly closed the gap between you and kissed your lips with beautiful promise, hope, and surging love.

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***Please do not fall into the infinite depths of self-harm. It is not beautiful…it is frightening, it is pain, and it is a sickness. There is always help and you are never alone. See **www.sioutreach.org** and **www.selfinjury.com** for additional support and resources.


End file.
